


a love that's well designed for passing the test of time

by dangercupcake



Category: Men's Hockey RPF, Superstition by Superstition_hockey
Genre: Hockey, Ice Fishing with Mike Richards, M/M, Queer Marriage, Queer Themes, married conversations, queer community, superstition by superstition_hockey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 08:57:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangercupcake/pseuds/dangercupcake
Summary: Wilson rolls his eyes again .  “Please. You think you two invented that ‘what a bromance’ shit? Latts and I fucking perfected it before you were out of Peewee..."--"Split the D" by superstition_hockey





	a love that's well designed for passing the test of time

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Split the D](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7584769) by [Superstition_hockey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstition_hockey/pseuds/Superstition_hockey). 



They do it before Latts leaves for Russia. Latts comes to visit him in Virginia, and they just… go. They hit up a Virginia courthouse way out in the state where no one cares about the Caps. Latts makes a bunch of Virginia is for lovers jokes, and then falters when he sees that Tom has a real ring for him, with fucking flashy ass diamonds that Tom couldn’t resist because he wants Latts to have _bling_. 

When Tom asked, years ago, almost as a joke, he had a ring pop that he gave Latts -- watermelon flavor.

This time he’s got it _right_. 

Latts slides a plain gold band onto his finger, with something engraved on the inside. Tom will look later.

Their kiss is the real deal, serious as fuck, because they are married now, and no one can take that away from them, even though they debated the whole way to the courthouse about whether this would count in Canada.

**

They spend more time apart than they do together. Tom knows it has to be this way. They can’t make anyone suspicious. Their bromance is alive and well, but it’s a fine line. In the background of their lives, Tom meets with lawyers, gets NDAs, makes sure he and Latts share bank accounts and get their taxes done right -- makes sure the NHL knows fuck all about his private business. He keeps his mom as his emergency contact. She knows who to call if shit goes down. But he wants to make sure he can take care of Latts after hockey; god, this is the first time he’s really started to think about after hockey. He works hard and puts his fucking mind to it. He knows Latts can take care of himself, but Tom doesn’t want him to have to. 

They’re like three years in when Latts gets really hurt. It’s a clean ankle break, but Tom hears about it through the _news_ , because of course Latts can’t be texting _him_ with all his teammates and coaches around in _Russia_. Latts’s season is over but -- he can’t even come to Tom in Washington. That would look so weird and get in the way of Latts’s career. 

Tom thinks this might be the first time he’s ever hated hockey.

Latts is pretending nothing is wrong, like he always does; he goes to stay with Richie in Kenora, and they go fucking _ice fishing_ while Latts has a busted ankle, and meanwhile Tom is stuck on roadie after roadie. But at least they can talk freely; Richie knows their “secret,” their ever-expanding secret.

Well, Tom can pretend there’s nothing wrong too. But he gets ants in his pants, like his mom used to say. He’s gotta do something with all his energy. He needs the Caps to keep him around, keep him on his big contract. Keep him on the top line. Keep him in good so when the time comes, he’ll be able to take care of Latts and they’ll have a good life together. 

He has a 40-goal season for the first time ever.

 

**

Now that he’s too expensive for Washington, Tom gets traded to Calgary and before he can even process that, Calgary packages him with two prospects and a second round pick to Jersey. He’s baffled but relieved. He’s not built for the middle of Canada, he’s from _Toronto_. He’s spent his whole career in Washington and there’s no real winter there most of the time. Even winter in Jersey is going to be hard, which he knows because he immediately gets a bunch of chirping texts about how now he’s going to have to learn how to wear real clothes from guys who are definitely no longer his friends, assholes.

He’s pretty curious: do people care about hockey in Jersey? In DC, Tom can’t really go out even grocery shopping without getting stopped, but in Jersey, like, does anyone give a shit? The Devils haven’t been playoff contenders for real for like twenty years at least. Sometimes they make it to the first round but never past that, and no one in the league takes them seriously, even back when Hallsy was the face of their franchise, before the Devils negotiated the worst trade in history with the Sharks. 

Yeah, Tom thinks. No one in Jersey cares about hockey. This might be perfect.

_Come home with me_ , he texts to Latts, and flies to meet the Devils on their West Coast roadie. By the time they’re back on the East Coast, Latts has quit fooling around with Richie and the fish and the dogs, and flown to Jersey, unpacked more than half of Tom’s stuff, and has a bunch of adoption websites up on his iPad.

Latts wants lots of kids.

Tom doesn’t think he’ll be a good dad. Latts will be a good dad. Tom is the guy who will get into fights with other parents on the playground. He knows himself. That’s what the quote is, right? Physician, know thyself. Well, Tom is not a doctor, but he knows himself. 

“When I retire,” he says. “Just a few more years.”

Latts scowls at him, and starts coaching youth hockey a few towns over. Really pointedly. But he wears his wedding ring all the time, so Tom will take it.

***

Tom doesn’t mean to tell that kid Chantal about Latts, but the kid is all broken up about Jackson -- what a fucking dirty hit, and Tom would know -- and Tom wants the kid to know Tom is a guy he can trust. Other guys have guessed over the years, but no one has said anything _out loud_ the way Tom does in that hallway. He kisses Chantal to show him, to prove it, and it seems to shake the kid out of his weird fugue, enough that the kid drops off some stuff for Jackson at the hotel, and Tom takes it to Giroux’s house when they’re on a homestand for a while and he can drive to Philly without it being a pain. 

Tom and Giroux aren’t besties or anything, but when Tom leaves, Giroux hugs him and tells him to say hi to Latts. Tom feels frozen, but nods and says, “Yeah, I will, bro,” and gets into his car. He’s in Jersey, halfway home, before he’s breathing normally again.

He and Latts have been living together in New Jersey for a long time now. They go out with the team sometimes. They post shit to Insta. It’s probably gotten around that they’re together. Tom’s been stupid and blind if he thinks that no one has guessed. No teenage bromance goes on this long, and they weren’t even teenagers. Just like he saw right through Chantal and Jackson, everyone with a brain probably saw through him and Latts back then and they all know better now. 

Tom looks down at his hand. He could be wearing his ring right now.

When he gets home, he takes it out of his suitcase, off the chain it’s been on since just after the wedding, and slides it onto his finger. Then he takes off his clothes and gets into bed with Latts.

“Hey, bro,” Latts murmurs, curling into him.

“Love you,” Tom murmurs back. 

***

The Chantal kid _comes out_ when the Nordiques win the Cup. Tom is like really… flabbergasted. But it’s cool, Tom is very cool with it. At like three in the morning he gets an almost incomprehensible text from Chantal inviting him to Quebec City for a party, and Tom texts back “Drink water, dude” because Tom has _been there_. When the texts from teammates and former teammates and bros roll in, Tom is pretty fucking firm about what a great guy Chantal is and how cool it is that he came out. All his teammates right now know about Latts. They should know better than to start some shit about Chantal. 

Tom makes a mental list of the ones who don’t fucking know better.

There are also the ones who are genuinely cool about it, so that’s nice, and Tom reads those out loud to Latts, who’s getting his own texts. Like the one from Richie -- “That kid sucked my dick once” blah blah blah.

“Of course he fucking did,” grouches Tom. “Who hasn’t sucked Richie’s dick.”

“Not me,” says Latts, head on Tom’s thigh.

“Not even when you, like, ice fishing, or whatever?” Tom carefully doesn’t look at him.

Latts scoffs, and Tom dares a glance out of the corner of his eye. “I was married to you at the time, although since you’re such a fucking moron you think I’d cheat on you, maybe I shouldn’t be married to you anymore. Maybe I should divorce you and go throw myself at Richie and his millions and his dogs -- I bet he’d let me adopt some kids now, and not make me wait because he’s scared of being a father and --”

“Okay, I’m not _scared_ of being a father --”

“Oh, bud, you are _so scared_ \--”

“It just seems really hard and complicated!”

“Since when has that ever stopped you? I can’t believe --” Latts sits up and faces Tom. “You thought I was missing you so bad that I would suck some other guy’s dick? Whose dick did you suck while I was in Russia?”

Tom is outraged. “No one’s! But I know your thing about Richie --”

“What about my thing about _you_?” Latts puts both hands on Tom’s leg. “You wanna come out, too, like Chantal? Tell everyone?”

“What? No!”

“I will. I’ve already told everyone who matters, I’ll tell the world, we can post a picture to Instagram right now. Brobeans wedding rings.”

“I’ve told everyone who matters too,” Tom says. “I don’t care about everyone else, what the fuck. I just -- if you want a kid, we’ll get a kid, it’s fine, it’s really, like, I’m okay with it, let’s do it.”

Latts leans up and kisses him gently. “Let’s talk about it again when you don’t think I’m sucking someone else’s dick.”

“I used to jerk off thinking about it,” Tom confesses. “So, like… whatever. It’s not totally gross.”

“You should jerk off thinking about me sucking _your_ dick.” Latts’ hands move to Tom’s waistband. “Let me give you some material.”

“You are so fucking smooth, bro,” Tom tells him, and lifts up to help get his sweatpants off.

***

Tom bumps shoulders with Chantal at the faceoff dot. “Hey, bro, wanna go?”

“Nah, I only get one fight with you per season. Wanna save it for our next game, you know?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Tom regrips his stick. “Sweet coming out party last year. Latts and I were sorry we couldn’t make it.”

“We missed you, brah.” Chantal grins at him.

“Yeah, we’ve been busy doing adoption stuff.” Tom grins back at him.

“Sweet.”

“Guys,” says the linesman. “Are you ready to play hockey?”

“Just catching up with my bro,” says Chantal, gliding back into position. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Tom rolls his eyes, but then the puck drops and Jersey gets it and Tom’s ready to go.


End file.
